Page 6 of Unspoken Tides

Oh, but hadn’t they stood at these very granite countertops in Nantucket and sliced vegetables, exchanged stories, and drank wine? Hadn’t Rodrick even helped her choose the paint color on the kitchen walls? She’d had it redone, of course, since it had faded over the years. But he’d been the one to agree on the initial color.

He was inextricably tied up in everything she was, in the very walls of the house in Siasconset. But she wasn’t sure she would ever have the strength to write him back, let alone call. As another burst of laughter came from the veranda outside, she shivered despite the heat. She knew better than to trust whatever happened next. When Stella returned to the kitchen to ask her what had been taking so long, Hilary reached for a lie again. “I’ll be out in a second. Just finishing up.”

Maybe she was a better actress than she thought.

Chapter Two

Hilary maintained her “actress” persona for the rest of the evening. She listened to the false ring of her own voice as she bid everyone goodbye, kissing them on the cheeks and wishing them well. As soon as the door closed behind her, she draped herself against it and fell all the way to the floor. Her heart thudded. When she dared, she glanced again at her phone. Rodrick’s messages remained. They waited for her.

Hilary retreated to her bedroom. It was the same one her mother had claimed as her own when she’d first purchased the house in Siasconset in the late eighties. Hilary still remembered those early days before Isabella and Larry’s very public divorce, before Hilary had moved out and before her mother had drifted further and further from the cultural heartbeat and into chaos.

Hilary performed her nightly ritual of fifteen steps for her face and another few for her hair and body. In her head, she heard her mother’s voice talking about maintenance. That was what being a woman was all about. Sometimes it exhausted her. Other times, Hilary relished the time and commitment she had for herself. At the end of the day, she went to bed alone. Which meant she had to be able to face herself in the morning.

When early light spilled through the gap in the curtains, Hilary popped up and went downstairs to brew a big pot of coffee. Her phone was off because she’d turned it off, and she felt a fizzy sense of freedom that she knew would come crashing down upon her soon. After a light yoga workout and breakfast, she donned a beautiful bodysuit with flowy legs, got in the Porsche, and drove to the harbor. Ever since she’d seen the boat out on the sound last night, she’d itched to take herself out.

She’d prepared for a day at sea. There was white wine, raspberries, cheese, crackers, and dark chocolate in her picnic bag, and she had three different books with her, all of which corresponded with a different mood. She’d decided to try to treat herself as though she were just another member of the Salt Sisters. “Give yourself the same care you give others.”

But once Hilary opened the sails and surged out of the harbor, she couldn’t shake the fear that wrapped around her heart. No matter how quickly the boat moved, or how expertly she tied the knots, or how sweet it was to feel the breeze through her hair, she felt drawn into the past, so deep that she was ultimately lost in it.

By midafternoon, Hilary gave up. She dropped anchor before a splendorous cliff, opened the bottle of wine, and draped herself across the boat to think. Her heart beat hard and fast, reminding her of a hamster she’d had as a child, whose heart had always seemed on the brink of giving out. The hamster had been a gift from one of her mother’s admirers. Hilary couldn’t remember which one.

Ignoring Rodrick like this felt like a nightmare. Despite not seeing him for so long, Hilary still felt as though she was betraying him. As though she were going against their vows. How ridiculous was that?

Hilary had been twenty-one when she’d married Rodrick. She could still picture the wedding photographs, which had been featured in every celebrity and human-interest magazine both in the United States and abroad. “Starlet’s Daughter Marries a Handsome Producer!” Hilary was tremendously thin in the photos, wearing Valentino, which would have made Carrie Bradshaw die of jealousy. She gazed at Rodrick, fiery with love. Consumed with it.

They’d married right before the premiere of their film, with Rodrick hoping that all the press would garner a bigger audience. Rodrick had written and produced the film and called it Galway Agenda, and he’d naturally cast his beautiful and famous fiancée in the love interest role. It was Hilary’s first big acting gig. She was so sure that role would change the course of her life.

At the time, Isabella was horrified that Hilary was getting married. Isabella was a crumbling mess after the divorce. She’d been kicked off two films for disorderly conduct, and she had a reputation around Hollywood for being a drunk. Her beauty was still stellar, but it was sometimes ragged around the edges because she didn’t take good care of herself. She was also very thin—skeletal—and she was very, very proud of it. She was proud of Hilary’s weight, too. That had been a nineties thing, Hilary remembered. Everyone had wanted to be nothing at all.

It had been Isabella’s idea to have the wedding in Nantucket. “It’ll be a dream, honey. We can host it at the big house. We’ll hire heaps of paparazzi to guard the grounds and keep everyone away. You don’t want to get married in Los Angeles. Trust me. Nantucket is it.”

It had been easy to go along with whatever Isabella wanted. She was Isabella Helin, for goodness’ sake.

Word got out that Isabella Helin’s daughter was going to be married in Nantucket. By the time Hilary, Rodrick, Isabella, and Isabella’s boyfriend arrived that early summer, paparazzi swarmed the island, eager to snap photographs of a “ragged Isabella.” Isabella hid in the back of the car all the way to the house, where she sequestered herself in her bedroom and drank vodka. Her boyfriend, an Italian man half her age, came in and out to get supplies.

Rodrick kept Hilary’s spirits high. They went on long walks and talked about their future, their upcoming film, and the babies they wanted to have. Hilary swam through time alongside him. It felt impossible that she’d fallen so completely head over heels. It felt impossible that she was allowed to feel so happy and free.

The night before the wedding, Isabella hosted a large rehearsal dinner. Fifty guests were in attendance—Rodrick’s family and friends, and Isabella and Hilary’s famous friends in the industry, all of whom Isabella called her “family,” as she no longer kept tabs on her Swedish roots. Isabella drank too much before everyone arrived, and she swayed as she greeted everyone, taking their hands and gushing about how good they looked and what they were wearing. Hilary could always sense when Isabella wasn’t telling the truth—when she yearned to ridicule a dress or a tie. Hilary prayed to the universe that her mother would behave so she wouldn’t make a scene.

For the first couple of hours, everything went better than planned. Each meal course was divine, and every bottle of wine was exquisite. Hilary and Rodrick held hands under the table and gazed at one another lovingly, amazed that so many people they adored were all under the same roof—in celebration of their romance.

But as dessert drew to a close, Isabella stood, wavering more than slightly. She gripped her Italian boyfriend’s shoulder and gazed out across the crowd as tears spilled from her eyes. Hilary froze with fear, sensing her mother was about to make a scene. She wore her actress face.

“Everyone,” Isabella slurred, “I want to welcome you to my humble home. Thank you for traveling all this way to celebrate my darling heart, my joy, and my baby girl, Hilary. Everything I’ve done in this life, I’ve done for her.” She clapped and wavered again, so much so that her Italian boyfriend wrapped his arms around her legs to keep her upright. Hilary couldn’t breathe.

“When my daughter first told me she wanted to marry Rodrick Salt,” Isabella declared, “I said, ‘Who the heck is that?’”

The crowd laughed gently, glancing at one another with confusion.

“I raised my daughter among the elite of Hollywood!” Isabella went on. “She was always surrounded by the best and brightest. The most handsome. And she went out of her way to find Rodrick Salt!” Isabella snickered.

Hilary’s heart dropped into her gut. Rodrick removed his hand from hers and cleared his throat. He looked pale.

“Oh, but maybe she’ll be luckier than me,” Isabella went on, her eyes like two darts coming toward Hilary, preparing to strike. “Maybe she’ll discover something about marriage that I haven’t. Perhaps she really does know more than her old mother, just like she thinks she does.” Her words were heavy with malice.

Hilary leaped to her feet. She wasn’t sure if she planned to run out of there or shove her mother to the ground. But before she could decide, the Italian boyfriend kissed Isabella’s neck and whispered something in her ear. Hilary couldn’t remember his name. Federico? Arturo? Matteo? At that moment, it didn’t matter. As he led Isabella away, he was her hero.

And the next day, Hilary married Rodrick without a single issue. And she was happy. Really marvelously happy. For a little while.

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